Three Times Six
by Myr Halcyon
Summary: After a year of uneasy peace, a surprise attack sets the tone for life away from Hogwarts. Hermione is lost and alone; Harry's hope and faith are running out. Where did they go wrong?
1. The Broken Mirror

Three Times Six By: myr_halcyon  
  
Summary: Hermione deals with Voldemort's latest attacks...firsthand. Is there any hope left?  
  
Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling and her respective publishers. Jim, Tom, and the plot are mine. No money will be made on this story.  
  
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three times six and two plus two  
  
tell me friend, what should i do  
  
my life has gone, my love has died  
  
my eyes are blind from tears i've cried  
  
the lake is cold, the sky is grey  
  
the dark lord made his subjects pay  
  
and i alone have seen it through  
  
three times six and two plus two  
  
***  
  
The cellar was dark and damp, and the mirror in front of Hermione was cracked. Seven identical pairs of eyes stared at her from within its depths; eyes without hope, eyes with no tears left to shed. They looked with her, out of the dirty window next to her, into the ruin of a marketplace. It seemed so long ago that the street had been filled with vendors plying their wares and old country witches up for a day of shopping. She could barely make out the faded writing on the old street sign: Diagon Alley.  
  
Three times six and two plus two...there was some significance to that number. How long had she been down here? Twenty-two hours? Days? Years? Or had that been the number of people killed when she'd escaped down here? Hermione didn't know. The man she loved had been killed...what was his name? It didn't matter. He was dead. Everyone was dead, now. There was no reason to keep going.  
  
But keep going she did. She was the only one left; she and the one inside her. She had to live, to give life. That was why she had run. That was why she was hiding, feeding herself on what little scraps she could find.  
  
She couldn't identify the sound at first - it had been so long since the last time she had heard it.  
  
"No one, Jim?"  
  
"Not a soul. Bodies all over the place in that last place, though."  
  
"Yeah. You know, I don't care what you Brits are saying, this was no chemical weapon. People don't look like that after being gassed."  
  
"I know. The bodies are normal, no swellings, no blotches on the skin..."  
  
Voices. That's what they were. Muggle voices. Maybe she wasn't the only person alive. Maybe she could give in and die...but no. She had to give life. She had to counteract the Dark Lord in whatever way she could.  
  
"It looks like they just...I don't know, died. Just up and stopped breathing."  
  
"Mass hysteria?"  
  
"Encompassing the entire city of London? Come on, Jim. Think about what you're saying."  
  
"I know it sounds rather stupid, but..."  
  
"Jim, take a close look at these buildings. You've seen normal fires before -- do these look like they were burned?"  
  
"Tom, just forget it, all right?"  
  
The voices were coming closer. Hermione wanted to cry out, wanted to make sure she wasn't so far gone that she was hallucinating, but she couldn't. She didn't dare. If they were servants of the Dark Lord...no. She had to make sure.  
  
"That one bloke? The one they're saying started all this?"  
  
"The one with the French name? What about him?"  
  
"Voldemort. I heard they caught sight of him in Luxembourg. Running for his life, he was, or so Parliament says."  
  
Voldemort. She shuddered at the name, but that was him. It sounded out of character for him to be running for his life, though. A spark of hope ran through her. Maybe there were wizards left too.  
  
"What're they gonna do with him once they catch him?"  
  
"I have no idea. They have some branch of the British ministry working on it. Ministry of Unexplained Phenomena."  
  
"They have a ministry of unexplained phenomena?"  
  
"Apparently. I've never heard of it before."  
  
Unexplained phenomena. She'd heard that phrase before - it was a Muggle euphemism for magic. So the Ministry of Magic had survived the attack and was looking for the Dark Lord. It would have, she reflected. Dumbledore was an excellent Minister.  
  
That thought startled her. Dumbledore wasn't Minister, Cornelius Fudge was. No, that was right. Fudge had been killed while Hermione was still at Hogwarts, and the Ministry had relocated to the castle for security's sake. Dumbledore had been unanimously elected Minister. That was right.  
  
"Well, I hope they catch the guy. I sure don't want to come home to find my kids like this."  
  
"Neither would I. Well, did you check everywhere?"  
  
"Everywhere I could find. No one's alive."  
  
I am, thought Hermione desperately, feeling her stomach tighten painfully. I'm alive, no wait, don't go away...  
  
"Bugger. Oh well, come on. Let's go. Come on, Potter."  
  
Hermione started. Potter? She knew that name. But no, the Potter she'd known had been a wizard. These were Muggles.  
  
"Coming, Jim," said a new voice from over her head. Hermione felt sad for its owner; he sounded desperate, like he was looking for someone dear to him. "You are absolutely positive you checked everywhere in here?"  
  
"Yes, Potter. Now come on, do that little trick of yours and get us out of here. I'm getting the heebie jeebies."  
  
Little trick? Maybe this Potter was a wizard. Maybe...maybe there was a chance...  
  
"Harry?" croaked Hermione. The footsteps outside her window faltered for a moment, but kept going. "Harry," she tried to call, but her voice didn't want to work. The footsteps faltered. "Harry," she tried again, but the footsteps moved on. No. No, it had been too good to be true. It wasn't Harry.  
  
A pair of legs passed her window. "...is someone there?" whispered Potter, pausing again. Yes, yes, yes! Hermione wanted to cry, but her voice once again refused to make the even the smallest of sounds.  
  
"Read my flapping lips, Potter. They are all dead."  
  
"Jim, did you check down here?"  
  
"Where, in the basement? No, couldn't get in. Anyway, I smelled a little of the air coming out from down there. Smells like death. Decay. I didn't check, but there's nothing living down there besides maybe a rat."  
  
She heard Potter sigh. "You're probably right. Why should there be anything living down there, of all places..."  
  
Hermione's heart sank back into her toes. "No, Harry..." she moaned. She tried to get up, to knock on the window, but her leg gave out beneath her. Broken.  
  
"Look, Potter, if you really want to look there, bust the window or something."  
  
"No, you're right, Tom. I'm being stupid. She's not alive. I'm...alone."  
  
"Stop being so depressive, man. You're bringing me down. How about a beer at the Prancing Pony? Always helps me."  
  
"I'd prefer a good mug of Madam Rosmerta's mead over any Muggle beer right now, thank you very much," snapped Potter, walking over to the other two.  
  
"Potter, that hocus pocus bar wench is dead, just like all the rest of those people. Just open the arch so we can get out."  
  
The sound of the three pairs of footsteps died away, leaving Hermione alone with herself. Her stomach tightened again, and she suddenly realized that it wasn't her stomach tightening. "Oh no, not now..." she whimpered.  
  
Suddenly a searing pain swept through her lower body as the baby within her began to force its way out. Unable to restrain itself any longer, her voice finally wrenched itself from her body in an inhuman mixture of pain and anguish. She was completely alone in her agony. She had to deal with this herself.  
  
As she sank into the depths of pain and self pity, she thought she heard the crash of breaking glass. The last thing her mind registered before the darkness claimed her was the indistinct cry of a lover despairing and the seven sets of bright green eyes reflected in the cracked mirror on the floor.  
  
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A/N: Big thanks to my betas, khaarvan and kater. Please review; I may write additional follow-up chapters (eg. Harry's pov, what happened before, what happens after), but this is where it all starts... 


	2. Of Burned Books

Three Times Six, Chapter Two By: myr_halcyon  
  
Summary: Harry deals with Voldemort's latest attacks...firsthand. Is there any hope left?  
  
Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling, any originality is purely mine, including the embellishments on unforgivable curses. Not for profit, don't sue me. You won't get anything anyway.  
  
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Harry held a book in his hand. Or rather, he held the charred remains of a book, so far gone he could barely make out the title: Il Nome Della Rosa. How this Muggle book had made its way into Diagon Alley he couldn't even begin to guess. He tried flipping through a few pages, but they crumbled in his hands and scattered onto the floor.  
  
Harry watched them fall; a piece of page 279 finally coming to rest on the sunken cheekbone of a man Harry recognized as the Flourish and Blotts proprietor. Dead. They were all dead. It was almost impossible to walk in the shop without tripping over a decaying arm or nearly fainting from the stench of rot that permeated the air. It was disgusting, it was mind-boggling.  
  
It was hopeless.  
  
Harry dropped the empty book spine on the floor and tripped over to the shelf with the hidden room behind it. Maybe...but no. The trip book had been burnt with the rest of the books, the cave was half open and filled with more dead bodies.  
  
Damn you, Voldemort, thought Harry. At first it had been only those in open resistance who had to fear for their lives -- McGonagall had been the first to go -- but then the resistance wore thin, went underground, and Voldemort was hungry. Harry suspected Voldemort's immortality was perpetuated by the energy of the souls of countless wizards being forced from their bodies.  
  
For that was Avada Kedavra. It was the Dementor's Kiss of curses. The soul was not merely sucked out: it was ripped from the body -- torn into pieces. The shock of this violence was what killed the body so quickly and thoroughly, and yet left no discernable trace. Voldemort pulled pieces of those souls into himself and lived the lives that he did not deserve to have.  
  
Harry had nearly died himself when Dumbledore had finally told him this. In some instinctual battle between good and evil, baby Harry, too little to even walk, had pulled his father's soul from Voldemort's grasp and guarded it within his tiny being. Infuriated, Voldemort had rounded on the baby. When Harry's mother was killed, the love she had exhibited for Harry had already bound her soul to his. In a fit of rage, Voldemort exploded at Harry, but the strength of his parents' souls combined with his created a barrier strong enough to stop any attack, magical or physical. The curse hit Voldemort, and the rest was well-recorded history.  
  
But now Harry knew Voldemort too would be impossible to defeat, and that was what he feared Voldemort had been doing all along: stealing miniscule pieces of souls until he too was protected by the equivalent of three spiritual beings. After the massacre in Diagon Alley, he would be virtually unstoppable.  
  
"I should have been here," muttered Harry. "I could have fought him, beaten him while he was weaker. I could have saved these people, I could have saved my Hermi--"  
  
Harry's voice caught. Hermione. He knew she'd been in Diagon Alley that day -- Dumbledore had sent her on some trivial business. "Why her!?" Harry screamed, throwing a charred book at the wall. "Why did you have to rob me like that!? Why, dammit, why!?"  
  
He knelt down next to the body of a nameless witch in purple robes. "Why..." he whispered, letting his tears fall on her shoulder. "Why were you here? Does someone miss you like I miss her? Or is everyone dead?" He swallowed. "Everyone..." he repeated, hearing the sound die echolessly amid the ranks of corpses. "Gone..."  
  
"Come on, Potter." Harry heard Jim's voice call from the street. Even the Muggles were getting involved, it was so bad. True, the general populace didn't know yet, but it was almost as bad as Grindelwald in the '40s. Dumbledore had said that they'd had to convince the world leaders to start a war just to cover up for his destruction.  
  
"Coming, Jim," Harry called back. He felt quickly for some identifying material in the witch's pockets, but came up empty-handed. He sighed, and made his way to the door. "You are absolutely positive you checked everywhere in here?"  
  
Jim and Tom both looked uncomfortable. Tom scratched the back of his neck. "Yes, Potter. Now come on, do that little trick of yours and get us out of here. I'm getting the heebie jeebies."  
  
Harry sighed and fumbled in his robes for his wand. Diagon Alley had been his only hope, and there was nothing. Nothing. He found his wand and stepped gingerly over the few bodies still sprawled across the street in front of Flourish and Blotts. Nothing...he had nothing...  
  
He paused, noticing for the first time a window set into the ground underneath the bookstore. Curious, he thought, that he'd not noticed it in the seven years he'd spent walking every inch of the Alley. On a whim, he knelt down in the street. "Is someone there?" he called softly.  
  
Behind him, Harry could almost hear Jim rolling his eyes. "Read my flapping lips, Potter. They are all dead."  
  
"Jim, did you check down here?" If Harry hadn't noticed it before...  
  
"Where, in the basement?" Apparently Jim had. "No, couldn't get in. Anyway, I smelled a little of the air coming out from down there. Smells like death. Decay. I didn't check, but there's nothing living down there besides maybe a rat."  
  
Harry sighed. Of course, he was just being stupid. "You're probably right. Why should there be anything living down there, of all places..." He could break the window and jump down into the cellar, but his cursory glance revealed no movement. There weren't even any bodies -- just a jumble of boxes and a broken mirror. He shook his head and carefully wiped a cobweb from the corner of the windowpane with his sleeve.  
  
"Look, Potter," said Tom, "if you really want to look there, bust the window or something."  
  
Harry let his arm drop. "No, you're right, Tom." He straightened his legs and turned to look at the pair of Muggles waiting by the brick wall at the end of the Alley. "I'm being stupid. She's not alive. I'm..." Harry knew he'd have to say it, but that didn't make it any easier, "...alone."  
  
Tom blinked. "Stop being so depressive, man. You're bringing me down." He brightened in that annoying way that most men seem to brighten when the subjects of women and alcohol cross their minds. "How about a beer at the Prancing Pony? Always helps me."  
  
"I'd prefer a good mug of Madam Rosmerta's mead over any Muggle beer right now, thank you very much," Harry snapped. Damn Americans had no feelings at all. Harry glanced over the remains of his childhood fantasy world, now lying in decay at his feet. Just like his hopes. Just like his dreams. He realized an angry tear was creeping down his cheek. He had to get out of this horrible satire of his life. He had to leave. He jabbed the back of his hand at his face to take away any evidence of his tear and stumbled over to the Muggles.  
  
"Potter, that hocus pocus bar wench is dead, just like all the rest of those people," said Tom. Then realizing he had touched a nerve, his voice softened. "Just open the arch so we can get out."  
  
Harry nodded and closed his fingers around his wand again. As he brought the eleven inches of holly and phoenix feather out from under his robes, he realized that like all of his other old friends, his wand would have to die, too. With it would die all Harry's connections to the world of magic that lay in ruins at his feet. With it would die Harry's inner expectation to be able to wave his wand and make everything all right again. And with it would die his tangible connections to the evil being named Voldemort.  
  
"Three up, two across..." muttered Harry, tapping the brick wall with the accursed piece of wood. As the wall melted into the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, Harry heard a scream.  
  
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A/N: You know, I hate cliffhangers, but I'm tired and I want to go to bed. So bite me. Coming up: what happened before, what happens after, maybe some more fun pov changes. Who's kid is Hermione pregnant with? I don't know yet!  
  
Thank you! /^_^\ to Rachel, Rachel Potter, and AgiVega for reviewing! Ah, if only I were as bogged down in reviews as Agi...Please help me everyone! I love flames, they're hilarious. -MH 


	3. A Time to Live

Three Times Six, Chapter Three By: myr_halcyon  
  
Summary: Well, now we are in Harry's mind. The atmosphere's slightly more kind -- it's nine months before, they're just prepping for war, and he finds himself in a bind.  
  
Disclaimer: This story is purely for fun, I really won't hurt anyone. No money I'll make, no liberties take except giving Hermione a son. (I'm only guilty of writing stupid limericks that completely contradict the mood of the story. The Rangers, by the by, are purely a Tolkien reference.)  
  
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Harry was comfortable. He had just finished the last chocolate frog from the graduation party the seventh-year Gryffindors had thrown and was settling back on the familiar, worn seat of the Hogwarts Express. Ron Weasley's feet were propped on the seat next to Harry, and the rest of Ron appeared to be very contentedly asleep. In another situation, Harry would have Transfigured Ron's empty Bertie Bott's box into a giant slug and dropped it on his face, but it had been too exciting a day to do anything but rest.  
  
The seventh years had gotten up at five in the morning and jumped, fully clothed, into the freezing waters of the lake one last time. Then there had been the party in the Astronomy tower, the graduation gift exchange, running frantically around the castle trying to see everyone at once, the impromptu seventh-year Quidditch match, and finally the end-of-the year feast. Hufflepuff had finally won the house cup, thanks to Draco and Harry being caught stringing Snape's underwear from Professor Trelawney's teapots a week ago, but both houses had deemed the loss to be a fair price to pay for the expression on Snape's face...  
  
With all the rabble-rousing and festivities, the students had quite forgotten about the troubles and worries of the outside world. The Aurors guarding every entrance to the grounds and the Rangers patrolling the borders had become such a part of life that the students hardly noticed them anymore. Voldemort hadn't made an attack on a wizarding community since the Ministry had set up their headquarters in Hogwarts, and even in the face of open war, life was good.  
  
Harry sighed. As soon as the train pulled into Platform 9 3/4, he would have to face reality again. He'd been offered a few jobs by various branches of the Ministry, none of which appealed to him. Ron was facing the same situation, but at his mother's urging had accepted an accounting position at Gringotts. ("You'll be looking at more money every day than the rest of your family will make in a lifetime, Weasel." "Shut up, Malfoy.") Malfoy, while independently wealthy, had decided to take a part-time desk job at the Ministry so he could get out of the house once in a while. Hermione had refused all job offers and had been accepted to a secondary school in Italy to study Absolutely Everything.  
  
Harry had felt like such a hypocrite, talking about life going on as it had in the Muggle world. He knew that sooner or later Voldemort would resurface and that he would have to pay the consequences. Why hadn't Voldemort shown up this year? Every year for the past six years he or his minions had come to take a shot at Harry, and though they'd failed to varying degrees, Harry knew they wouldn't give up until he or Voldemort was dead. Every day that passed, his scar hurt a little bit more; every day that passed, Voldemort's life was eaten away a little bit more. Harry's very existence was Voldemort's bane; Voldemort made Harry's life that much more uncomfortable. They could not coexist, and Harry knew that.  
  
Ron's foot twitched.  
  
Harry was immediately on his guard. After six years of Divination, Ron had developed quite an Inner Eye, and any abnormalities were ample cause for --  
  
The train suddenly screeched to a halt, throwing Harry against the wall of the compartment. Ron's feet flew up and hit the wall over his head, prompting a loud cry of pain and indignation from their owner. The lights flickered twice.  
  
"Oww," moaned Ron, righting himself. "That's going to spoil my evening."  
  
"Shh," hissed Harry. "Listen." The wind outside had begun to howl, and the sky had gotten considerably more overcast since the last time Harry had looked out the window. The lights flickered again, and an eerie creaking noise seemed to permeate the train, moving slowly backward from the front of the train.  
  
Ron made a move to open the door of the compartment and stick his head out into the hall. "Don't," whispered Harry. "Not yet."  
  
Suddenly a head popped into the window, giving Harry the fright of his life. It was just Hermione, though, mouthing the words "open up, you stupid prick." Ron leaned on the handle and before Harry could say anything, Hermione had joined the two in the compartment.  
  
"What are you so paranoid about, Harry?" laughed Ron, pushing candy wrappers off the seat and pulling Hermione onto his lap. "School's out! Have fun, you stupid prick." Hermione was laughing too, albeit more quietly and uncomfortably. She stopped suddenly and stood up.  
  
"Ron, Harry's right."  
  
"About what?" asked Ron, obviously disappointed at having lost his lap warmer.  
  
"About taking this seriously. I came back here to make sure you were okay -- they're not even telling the prefects anything, and I'm a little worried." Hermione shifted from one foot to the other.  
  
Harry knew exactly what she meant. "Ron, doesn't it seem strange to you that Voldemort's been trying to kill me for the past six years, getting progressively more powerful, and all of a sudden he stops? That's just a little suspicious, don't you think?"  
  
Ron bit his lip, trying to think of something optimistic to say, but the look in Harry's eyes killed any thought of a joke in his mind. Harry was scared, Ron thought, and not just scared, nearly petrified.  
  
The lights flickered. The creak came again, more loudly.  
  
Harry sat down slowly on the compartment seat, feeling much less comfortable than he had five minutes ago. He felt the seat next to him depress slightly as Hermione sat next to him. "Minnie?" he whispered, sliding his hand onto her leg.  
  
"I'm right here," she whispered back.  
  
Ron knelt on the floor in front of them and rested his chin on Harry's knee. "I'm sorry, Harry. I don't know what you're going through, I just don't. The suspense, the not knowing, the --" Ron stopped, choking. He stood up and backed away from Harry and Hermione, tripped over the pile of candy wrappers and fell to the floor, shaking. "Get out of here," he whispered to them, eyes wide with terror. Suddenly, his eyes flew open and he backed away, groping wildly for the wall. "It was me," he screamed, "don't take her, not her, my baby, my baby..." Ron shrieked and lay still.  
  
"Ron, hey, Ron!" Harry shook him, but Ron didn't move. The lights flickered again and went out, plunging the train into a murky fog. Harry stood up quickly, running his hand through his hair. His scar burned, and he was scared.  
  
"What's going on, Harry?" whispered Hermione.  
  
"I think we should get out of here," said Harry. "I know Ron. He doesn't say things without meaning them, whether he knows it or not."  
  
"What did he mean, don't take her?" asked Hermione.  
  
"I don't know," said Harry slowly, "but I think someone is going to die on this train tonight."  
  
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A/N: More to come, and don't worry, I won't leave you hanging this time! I know what's going to happen. 


	4. Pride and Parseltongue

Three Times Six, Chapter Four By: myr_halcyon  
  
Summary: Chapter three, continued. Still nine months back in time.  
  
Disclaimer: Oh, you know the drill by now.  
  
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"Going to die?" Hermione blinked a few times. "Don't you think you're being a little melodramatic, Harry?"  
  
Harry glanced around the compartment, taking in the dead lamps, the empty seats, and Ron lying prone amongst the empty wrappers on the floor. He pressed his hand against the glass of the window, which had inexplicably begun to fog over on the outside, completely blocking his view.  
  
"Look at us," he said quietly. "All of us. We've been so worried about our petty little lives that we've forgotten that there was ever a problem. And I bet that was what he wanted, too," he added, turning to face her. "No one could have expected anything to go wrong on the Hogwarts Express going back to London. For some reason, we all assumed we were safe..."  
  
Hermione shook her head. "Just because Ron's having visions and the emergency brake went off and the lights died is no reason to --"  
  
"Listen to yourself, Minnie," said Harry. "Ron has visions, the lights flicker and extinguish, the windows are fogging up on the outside so we can't see through them, and on top of that the train stops so fast it had to have been the dead man's brake. Don't you think that's a little too much of a coincidence?"  
  
"Look," said Hermione a little too loudly, "I think you're just in love with angst and intrigue. Couldn't this just be an innocent break down? The conductor accidentally loses his grip on the dead man's brake and the train stops, trying to start it up again he bumps a power switch and the lights go off, we're at a high elevation so it's cold outside, and Ron has a nightmare like Trelawney."  
  
Harry sighed. "I wish I could believe you, Hermione, but there's one thing you don't seem to have picked up from your reading."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"A wizard's dead man brake is directly linked to his vital signs -- brain activity, pulse, breathing. When they stop, the train stops. This was no accident."  
  
Hermione shrugged. "Okay, so he had a heart attack or something. It can be explained, Harry."  
  
Harry leaned against the wall, squinting to make out the outside. "I don't think so," he muttered, pulling out his wand and prodding the glass with it to try and clear the fog on the outside. "This is just plain weird."  
  
The train creaked. "That's it," said Harry. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm leaving. My scar hurts and I do not feel safe here. Call me paranoid, Minnie, but I'm leaving." He pushed on the window frame, but in vain. It had mysteriously locked itself and refused to budge, though there was no latch. Harry glanced at Hermione. "Explain that one."  
  
"Okay, okay," said Hermione. "Move over." She stretched her hand out toward the window and shouted something in Greek. The pane melted into a deformed glob of glass at the bottom of the frame.  
  
Harry, impressed despite his growing unease, poked his head out of the window. Dim shapes were moving about the front of the train, but he couldn't make them out to be friend or foe. A light drizzle had begun to fall, but all the other windows Harry could see had been hastily welded shut, as his own had apparently been. He turned and gestured to Hermione. "We should get out of here, and now," said Harry. "I've got a bad feeling about this."  
  
"What about Ron?" asked Hermione. Ron still had not moved, though he appeared to be breathing.  
  
"He told us to leave, Minnie," said Harry. "If it's that urgent, we won't have time to carry him. It doesn't look as though he'll be waking up any time soon. I'm sorry, but if we go, we go alone."  
  
Hermione, torn between her two best friends, stood helplessly in the middle of the compartment. She turned away from Harry and placed her hands against the door.  
  
She drew them back quickly, startled at the heat that seemed to be coming from the wood itself. Thin tendrils of steam were starting to creep under the door. "Please, Minnie," said Harry, horrified. Hermione bit her lip and took his outstretched hand. Together they jumped through the window and began to run, praying they would not be noticed.  
  
"Accio, Firebolt!" cried Harry as the dark shapes turned from the train and began to run towards them. He hoped against hope that the luggage compartments had not been welded shut...  
  
His gamble paid off: as he and Hermione fled from the train, he heard a whoosh behind his head. He stretched out his own arm and caught the broom neatly. He paused to mount, pulling Hermione on in front of him. She began to protest, but when she saw the dark shapes following them, her complaints ceased. Harry kicked off, his trusty broom easily carrying both thin students. They soared above the train as Harry tried to get his bearings without the compass from his broom care kit. Those were probably the Cairngorm Mountains, yes, and that was the River Spey...  
  
"Harry!" Hermione hissed, pointing at the train. The entire train had begun to throw off sparks. Apparently the dark figures hadn't been chasing Harry and Hermione; they were fleeing the train. The creaks must have been a firebug being planted...  
  
Harry and Hermione watched in horror as hands pounded the windows of the train and terrified faces pressed against the glass. The sparks increased in intensity until the engine exploded in a ball of green flame.  
  
The following spectacle was horrible: each car exploded, one after another, like a morbid string of firecrackers. The screams from the students trapped inside became audible as they realised they were going to die. Hermione stared stoically at the death train, silent tears running down her face as she watched Ron's minute body combust into a smoldering pile of ash. As the fireballs continued to consume innocent students, Harry wailed, turned the Firebolt around, and flew as fast as he could in the opposite direction.  
  
***  
  
Hermione woke up slowly to the feeling of water trickling down the back of her neck. She looked around groggily and nearly had a heart attack when she realised the ground was half a kilometer below her. "H-Harry?" she said, grabbing a fast hold on the thin piece of wood that was all that kept her aloft. An arm slipped around her waist and she relaxed into the curve of Harry's body.  
  
"Just sleep," Harry whispered, wiping his tear-stained cheeks in Hermione's hair. "Everything is all right again...when you sleep..."  
  
***  
  
Hours later, Harry gently set down in a little town in southern Scotland. As much as he would have liked to keep flying until he fell asleep and crashed to his death, he felt a duty to Hermione. He couldn't make the decision to die for her, and he couldn't abandon her here. He had to live for her.  
  
He tied his broomstick to his back and gathered the sleeping girl up in his arms. She looked so peaceful. Harry couldn't help himself Ð he bent over and gently kissed her lips. So soft...tears began to roll down his face again, and Harry turned away, cursing himself. Hermione was Ron's girl, and it was Harry's fault that Ron was dead. Ron...  
  
Harry choked back a sob and headed towards the nearest barn. Hopefully the Muggles wouldn't be alarmed by two teenagers huddled in their hayloft for the night. Harry wished he'd thought to Summon his invisibility cloak before the train exploded, but he'd barely had the presence of mind to call his Firebolt, much less his trunk.  
  
He nudged the barn door open with a whispered word and pulled it closed with his foot. He set Hermione down in the damp straw on the ground and pulled out his wand. "Lumos," he muttered, filling the building with a small but warm light. It glanced off a small shape, slithering through the straw on the other side of the barn.  
  
"Evening," whispered Harry.  
  
The snake stopped and raised its head to get a better view of Harry. "Evening," it hissed back. "You loss-st?"  
  
"Yes," nodded Harry. "We just need a place to stay. Do you think the Muggles Ð er, people here Ð would mind if we stayed the night?"  
  
The snake slithered over and coiled itself in front of Harry. "You're hiding from ss-something," it hissed.  
  
"We are," said Harry. "Please, it's very cold outside and we're tired. Where's the best place for us to sleep?"  
  
"Try the attic," the snake hissed, glancing significantly at the sheep huddled together in the stalls. "They won't help you," it added, sliding away into the darkness.  
  
Harry stared up into the dark attic above the stalls. There was no ladder to be seen, but that was no problem for a fully-trained wizard. He pulled the Firebolt off his back and flew quietly up to the loft. Hay, straw, and nothing else. But it didn't look like the Muggles came up here too often, so he and Hermione could spend the night unnoticed. He crouched at the edge of the loft. "Wingardium leviosa," Harry whispered, watching as Hermione's body rose gently off the floor. He reached out and grasped her arm, guiding her into the attic. He caught her in his arms and lowered her into a pile of straw. She twitched, batting at the stalks that scratched her face. "Stop it, Ron," she whispered, laughing softly.  
  
Harry buried his face in his hands. Why had he insisted in leaving Ron behind? Why had he been so selfish as to ruin the one true love relationship he had ever witnessed? He tore his fingernails down his face, doing everything he could not to scream.  
  
Why did he love Hermione so much?  
  
=====  
  
A/N: I have finally decided where I'm going with this, though that will probably change while I write. Thanks a ton to MC for reviewing Ð sorry the updates are so few and far between. I probably should have written the whole thing before I posted, but I'd change everything anyway, so this is probably the fastest way for me to write. That way, I can be flexible, too! Please review, even just to say hi. -MH 


	5. Misunderstandings

Three Times Six, Chapter Five By: myr_halcyon  
  
Summary: Hermione goes awol, apples are eaten. A transitional chapter, ergo short. My apologies.  
  
Warning: Contains implied sexual situations. Absolutely no smut guaranteed, but if anything even remotely sexual regarding seventeen-year-olds disturbs you, please do not read on, but skip to the end of the chapter for a more complete summary.  
  
=====  
  
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and threw her hand into the shaft of light that had suddenly stabbed into her eyes. "Turn it off," she muttered, turning her head away and pulling the blanket up over her head. Now her feet were cold. Damn it all...  
  
"Can't turn it off, Minnie, sorry about that," came Harry's voice from somewhere off to her right. "It's sort of up there permanently, you know, being the sun and all."  
  
Harry's voice?  
  
"You really should get up, you know," said Harry quietly, crunching straw on the floor of the hayloft as he made his way over to her. "We have a long way to go, or a long time to hide."  
  
Hermione's eyes flew open and she stared incredulously at the foreign cloak covering her body before she threw it off and jumped to her feet. "You, you...you bastard," she whispered, memory flooding back. "First you kill Ron, then you have the nerve to pretend like I'm your girlfriend? You tuck me in? You carry me around? Hell, you probably even did it last night, didn't you?" she asked, angry tears rolling down her face. "Ron was my one and only and you took that away from me, didn't you?" She backed away even further, clutching her own cloak around herself. "Didn't you?" she screamed hoarsely.  
  
Harry sank to his knees and averted his eyes. "So much death...had to counteract..." he murmured.  
  
Hermione's eyes widened. "My god," she whispered. "Harry, how could you?"  
  
Harry looked up, directly into Hermione's horrorstricken eyes, and held them unflinchingly. "Hermione, I love you and Ron more than anything in the world. Ron died because I was too hasty; I wasn't thinking clearly. I could have Summoned his body, but I Summoned my broomstick instead. I could have levitated his body along with us, but for some reason all I could think about was saving you. Hermione, I could have stopped that firebug. I could have saved a thousand lives. But I didn't think. I acted on impulse." He swallowed. "I wanted to, Hermione, God knows I wanted to. I needed to do something to counteract all of the death I'd caused. But I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't dishonor Ron like that, and I would never dishonor you."  
  
Hermione couldn't speak. She just stared at Harry as he rose and knelt before her. "Hermione," he said, pronouncing her full name for only the third time since their fifth year, "I love you."  
  
Hermione sat down heavily, cupping her head in her hands. Emotions were chasing themselves around in her head like a computer in an infinity loop, but somehow practicality won out, as it always did. "So, if you had to counteract all this death, what did you do?" she asked.  
  
Harry gave her a sideways look. "You see those sheep downstairs?"  
  
Hermione gasped, thoroughly disgusted. "You didn't!"  
  
"You're right," said Harry. "I didn't."  
  
***  
  
Harry reclaimed his cloak from where Hermione had deposited it and jumped down to the bottom level of the barn, landing squarely in a pile of fecal matter. Hermione might have said something like "serves you right," but he was too busy fending off curious sheep to be entirely certain.  
  
By the time he had finished scraping the manure from his shoes with the damp grass outside, Hermione had washed her face and located an apple tree to provide breakfast. They sat, eating their apples, on the bank of the small creek that flowed through the farm.  
  
"What was Ron talking about?" asked Hermione suddenly. "You know, on the train." She bit her lip and stared into the water, blinking back a few tears but feeling determined to solve her puzzle.  
  
Harry finished chewing and cast a wary glance at her. "Well," he said carefully, "for the past few months we've been doing channelling in Divination. Ron always got that look on his face when he was channelling someone -- got Hitler once, and Hitler wasn't too happy about that..." Harry trailed off, noticing the hint of pain in Hermione's eyes and at once admiring her ability to discuss those who were dead so soon. "My guess would be that he was channelling someone watching the train. Probably one of the parents at King's Cross." He gulped painfully. "I could have saved them all," he whispered.  
  
Harry jumped up and threw his apple core angrily into the water. "Goddammit, why didn't I think?"  
  
"Because Ron wasn't letting you," said Hermione softly. "Ron didn't know you could stop a firebug, I don't know how you could stop a firebug. He wanted me to live more than he wanted to live, so he gave you the single-minded purpose of saving me." A quiet tear rolled down her cheek. "On the night before graduation he told me that he valued my life more than his own, but I thought he was just being cute and romantic." She bit her lip. "He actually meant it..."  
  
Harry turned to her. "Of course he meant it, Minnie," he said gently. He moved to put his hand on her shoulder, but hesitated. He didn't want to make the situation any worse. But he needn't have worried; Hermione pressed her head into his chest and pulled his arms around her.  
  
After a moment of reverie, Hermione stepped back and shook herself. "So, how would one stop a firebug?" she asked, matter-of-factly.  
  
Harry blinked, then realised he had no cause for surprise. This was Hermione, after all. "It was something Lupin mentioned once, and I made him teach me how to do it. Now, when the firebug is planted..."  
  
***  
  
The two sat engrossed in conversation for several hours until the shepherd came to see why two sheep would be throwing sparks. Hermione flipped a mild memory charm at him and she and Harry grabbed the Firebolt and fled.  
  
"I'm sorry about that," said Harry, pulling Hermione onto the broom and taking off. "It's really not like me to be so long-winded. The charm's just sort of complicated and it takes a lot of practice."  
  
"Don't worry about it," said Hermione, gasping for breath. "I didn't think I'd be able to pick it up in one day. It's more a mental Zen thing than real magic."  
  
Harry shrugged. "That would make sense -- Lupin said he learned it in Japan. Some of those monks are libraries of curses and counter-charms."  
  
"Not that they have much else to do."  
  
"Point."  
  
They flew on in silence for a few minutes. Harry checked his compass and made a slight course correction.  
  
"Where are we going?" asked Hermione.  
  
"To the Burrow," said Harry.  
  
=====  
  
Summary: Hermione and Harry have a short but acute falling out over a misunderstanding. Harry mentions that he was not thinking clearly and could not only have saved Ron but also could have saved the entire train. Hermione reveals that Ron probably muted Harry's thoughts to put priority on saving Hermione. After being sighted by the farmer, Harry and Hermione take off hastily for the Burrow.  
  
A/N: Sorry this is so short, that just seemed like a good place to stop. It's also 12.30 AM, and I have to work tomorrow. By the time I post this, though, I'll have another chapter completely written and proofread, so never fear, the Burrow is near. The sheep humour is in honor of my friend Nick from Texas, who has scarred my mind forever.  
  
Really, I'm sorry it's been so long since I posted. April 21. Wow. Thing is, I just graduated from high school and I had a 1000-word literary analysis to write for my literature class, a 4500-word paper to write for anatomy, and a crapload of projects to finish. So again, my sincere apologies, and considering I now have nothing to do except work and write, more Three times Six is forthcoming! Thanks for putting up with me!  
  
Rachel Potter -- How is your situation at school? I'm glad you found a way to heal, but please accept my (belated) sympathies. We lost a classmate my sophomore year, and graduation was really tough, especially taking his parents the flowers that all the graduates gave their parents. *great big hug from myr*  
  
myimmortal -- Exactly. The opening two scenes are sort of a flash forward, a beginning at the end, and the rest of the story will be catching up to that point and maybe going a bit beyond. The purpose of the device is so you keep speculating on what brings them to where they were, and so that when they get there, you already know what happens. So basically the chronology so far is 3-5, then 1 and 2 simultaneously.  
  
Also, big thanks to AKi, estrella bird, Alexial, MC, and bubbles-123 for reveiwing! 


	6. At the Burrow

Three Times Six, Chapter Six By: myr_halcyon   
  
Summary: At the Burrow. Fred has mood swings.   
  
=====   
  
Several hours later, Hermione woke up to a gentle thump as Harry landed the Firebolt in front of the Burrow. The dilapidated house still seemed to be propped up primarily with magic, even though Seamus Finnigan had supposedly come over and done some fixing-up last summer with his dad's Muggle construction team.   
  
The boisterous atmosphere that typically pervaded the premises was noticeably absent, though. A few birds chirped from the trees nearby, but no squeals, screams or laughter floated out from the house. Even the garden gnomes were silent. Hermione and Harry walked cautiously up to the front door and peered in the window.   
  
Bill sat slumped over the table with his head in his hands. Mrs. Weasley was staring straight-backed at the wall, mouthing syllables that didn't make words. Arthur was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, glancing up at their extraordinary clock every few minutes to see if two of the hands had moved from their positions between "in mortal peril" and "school". As Hermione squinted, she could see that the pictures on each of the hands had disappeared and a few springs were lying on the mantle below the clock.   
  
Harry reached past Hermione and pushed open the door. All three Weasleys looked up quickly at the squeak. Charlie's head appeared at the top of the stairs, followed closely by Fred and George. "Hello, Hermione, Harry dear," said Mrs. Weasley vaguely. "Do come in..."   
  
Fred and George flew down the stairs. Fred grabbed Harry by the shirt collar and threw him into a chair while George pulled Hermione into the kitchen by the arm.   
  
"What the bloody hell happened out there?" Fred exploded. "Mum gets a little nudge from Ron on the platform, and then boom, all the parents with any Divination talent at all are on their knees screaming. We get word later that the train blew up and no one survived, but yet here you two are, alive and well! Why weren't you on the train!? WHERE ARE GINNY AND RON?" Fred's red face contrasted sharply with his hair, making his tirade all the more intimidating. Harry said nothing.   
  
"We tried," said Hermione in a small voice. "I never saw Ginny after we got on the train, but we could have saved Ron. Ron wouldn't let us. He --" Her voice cracked and she quickly looked away from Mrs. Weasley's contorted face. There was no way she would want to hear what Hermione was about to say. "He said he valued my life over his."   
  
"So he is dead." Bill's voice held no question.   
  
"Yes." The word stuck painfully in Hermione's throat.   
  
Bill's eyes flashed and his right hand twitched toward his wand. "And you did nothing? You let him die -- you didn't value his life as much as your own. Some loving, caring soul mate you made, Hermione," he spat.   
  
"Bill, Ginny died too," Harry said quietly, eyes averted.   
  
"How do you know?" asked Fred sharply.   
  
Harry could feel the icily intimidating stares of six Weasleys on his neck, but he couldn't keep the truth from them. "I heard her scream," he whispered.   
  
The silence was louder than any noise Hermione could think of. Fred stared at Harry's downcast face for a full minute, then, with a sickening crack, his fist connected with Harry's jaw.   
  
George and Charlie jumped on Fred, hauling him away from Harry before any more harm could be done. He struggled for a moment, but after he regained control he broke away from George and Charlie. "You bastard," he said, walking past Harry and out of the kitchen.   
  
Harry sat, frozen. He felt a tear slide slowly down his face. Humiliated, he jabbed a finger at the drop and gave a muffled cry at the sudden explosion of fire in his jaw. Broken. Charlie hastily drew his wand and muttered "mandibulus reparo" over the rapidly growing bruise on Harry's face. The swelling immediately stopped and the bruise began to subside.   
  
Arthur, who had been standing stonily next to the mantlepiece ever since Hermione and Harry had entered the house, suddenly spoke. "Harry, if this is truly what Ron wanted, then I believe that you had no choice in the matter. The Ministry had had Ron pegged as a potential addition to the Controllers of Magical Law. It's a group that only those with the strongest ability to manipulate minds can join, as they have to subdue some of our most dangerous and strong-willed magical folk. He would have had to go through several years of training to hone his abilities to the point where he could consciously control minds, but to hear them tell, he was a very strong subconscious Controller already."   
  
Mrs. Weasley looked startled; Bill, Charlie and George stood with their mouths hanging open. This was obviously news to them, too.   
  
"But there's one thing that I don't understand, Harry," Arthur said. "If this scuttlebutt from the Ministry is true, then Ron could unconsciously make you do anything he needed you to. He obviously knew that he was in a life-or-death situation, but he completely forgot about his sister. He left her to die --" Arthur's voice cracked, but he regained control and continued. "He left her to die, and all the research we have shows that Controllers' family bonds hold the utmost priority. Why did Hermione come first? You're just his girlfriend, after all," Arthur said, turning to Hermione. "No offence, my dear, but what made you so much more special than his family?"   
  
Hermione swallowed hard. Another piece of the puzzle had suddenly fallen into place. "Mr. Weasley," she said softly, "there is more detail to the research than the fact that family ties come first." She forced herself to look up into his eyes. "Family ties are indubitably the strongest impulses for a Controller, but they come at different levels. Of family ties, aunts and uncles are the weakest. Grandparents are slightly stronger, followed by spouses, parents, and siblings..." She bit her lip. She hadn't accepted this yet, and she didn't expect the Weasleys to take it well. "...And the strongest impulses are generated by a Controller's children."   
  
Harry stared at her, comprehension dawning with all the grace and gentleness of a volcanic eruption. "Ron wasn't protecting you," he whispered, eyes wide.   
  
"You're pregnant?" shouted Bill, slamming his hands on the table. "You little slut, you run around, get yourself knocked up, and then abandon your baby's father to his death? And then you have the gall to show up at his parents' house? I'd thought better of you, Hermione Granger." He waved his hand to indicate the hollow stares of Arthur and Mrs. Weasley. "It hurts them enough to know that their youngest children are dead, but to hear that their youngest son loved and trusted someone who was only in it for the sex? It's a death blow, Granger."   
  
No one moved. Hermione's cheeks were stained with tears. Harry was still staring at her, now with a very hurt look in his eyes. Bill was breathing heavily, one hand supporting him on the table, the other half-clenched and hovering above the table. The other Weasleys were frozen.   
  
"Get out of my house," said Mrs. Weasley through stiff lips. "Both of you. Leave and don't come back."   
  
Hermione fled from the room as though released from a chain. After a beat, Harry slowly turned and followed her.   
  
"Oh, Ron," whispered Mrs. Weasley. "What have you done?"   
  
***   
  
Hermione ran blindly from the house, nearly barreling into a large apple tree. She sank to her knees at its base, sobbing and pressing one hand into the rough bark for support. She felt Harry's strong grip on her shoulder and turned and threw herself into his arms.   
  
"How did this happen?" she wailed. "I don't believe it -- I can't be pregnant. It's not right. That doesn't happen to people like me. It -- it happens to people like -- like..." Hermione couldn't finish her thought before another entered her head. "And I'm all alone, too," she said in a small voice, pulling away from Harry, rocking back onto her heels, and brushing her fingertips over her stomach. "I'm pregnant and alone...oh Harry, what am I going to do?" she cried, burying her face in her hands.   
  
"You aren't alone, Minnie," said Harry, gently gathering her in his arms again. "I'm here for you. I'll always be here, no matter what happens to you."   
  
Hermione pushed back suddenly and violently, sending Harry sprawling on the grass. A wild fire danced in her eyes, and her voice was a screech. "No, no, get back, I won't, get your hands off of me, you'll never have me like that --" She scrambled back against the trunk of the tree. Her voice lowered. "Harry Potter, how can I trust you when my world is turning upside down?"   
  
Harry was beside himself. "Minnie, what's wrong with you? We've been friends forever, almost, and --"   
  
"But you want more than that!" shrieked Hermione, grasping the tree and pulling herself behind it. "You wanted me last night, what's to stop you from trying again?"   
  
That brought Harry to a halt. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Minnie, I've made no secret of the fact that I love you. I've loved you as a friend since first year, and I realised a week ago that I love you as more than that now. I know you don't want me, and I can convince myself that I don't want you, and I can just be your friend again if that's what you want. But first you'll have to actually forgive me for that. I won't let you do this alone -- I can't. You need some support, and whether that support comes from your husband or from your best friend, it will be there."   
  
Harry reached out to touch Hermione's face, but she angrily batted his hand away. "Are you insinuating that I'm not strong enough to do this alone?"   
  
"But Hermione --"   
  
"I can go through this alone and I will go through this alone. All through school I've needed your help -- either to get into rooms I wasn't allowed in or to push while I pulled -- but this time I don't need it. This time, it's all on my shoulders, and I won't be needing you or Ron to help me, thank you very much." Hermione huffily turned her back to him.   
  
Harry sadly stood up and called his broom. "Then I should leave you, Minnie," he said, catching it in his hand. "If you don't want help, I shouldn't stay around or I'll be tempted to reach out. I don't want to hurt you." He swung a leg over the handle. "Goodbye, my dear Hermione Granger. Please don't forget me."   
  
He kicked off into the sky, checked his compass, and headed off toward northern Scotland.   
  
"Off to Hogwarts, is he?"   
  
Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked up into the densely foliated branches of the apple tree and noticed a hint of red-orange among the green leaves. Realising who it had to be, she turned away and began to walk quickly toward the road.   
  
"No, Hermione, please don't go," called Fred, hopping down from the bough where he'd been perched.   
  
"You heard?" asked Hermione, not looking at him.   
  
"Every word," said Fred. He came and stood in front of her, bringing her chin up to look in her eyes. He studied her for a moment. "Ron's baby?" he asked. She nodded, tearing her eyes away from his. He removed his hand and Hermione braced herself for a blow like Harry had taken, but no such blow landed. She opened her eyes and saw Fred just staring at her.   
  
"And Harry?" he asked, with a dangerous look in his eyes.   
  
"No, it wasn't what it sounded like," said Hermione quickly. "He never tried to rape me or anything, I just overreacted to something he told me last night."   
  
"That he loves you?"   
  
Hermione looked sharply at Fred, but his face did not seem to hold any vestiges of the ire it had harboured earlier. "Yes," she said. "Harry loves me. And I don't know what I feel for him. I knew I'd have to address it at some point, but I never really wanted to. I love Ron. He's all I ever wanted...you understand that, don't you, Fred?" she asked, her eyes pleading.   
  
"I understand, Hermione. I realised during that conversation that neither of you are to blame. Ron was acting on instinct -- he was up for Controller, you know," he added. Seeing Hermione's nod, he continued. "And you and Harry aren't yourselves. There's a lot of stress on the wizarding community right now, and we all know that You-Know-Who isn't going to stop with the train incident. He stirred up some emotions in the community, and when people act on emotions, they're so predictable even Trelawney could tell you what they're going to do." Fred smile was wan. "He's destroying us from the inside out, Minnie. I don't know what we're going to do."   
  
Hermione wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't want to go back to the Muggle world and live in the dark, but I have no place to stay in the wizarding world. I don't have enough money to get myself a place, and your mother kicked me out."   
  
Fred smiled and pulled Hermione into a bear hug. "Let's just see if we can't get the permanency of that mandate altered."   
  
Hermione looked at him in amazement. "You used multisyllabic words...there is hope for humanity..."   
  
Fred grinned and ushered her back into the Burrow. "Don't worry, Minnie, I have no idea what I just said."   
  
=====   
  
A/N: There you have it, a nice long chapter with minimal cliffhanger and a lighthearted ending. Your reward for sticking it out over that lovely month-long dry spell.   
  
Big thanks to LeBA for helping me get over my bump -- Fred originally slapped Harry across the face, and then the chapter just slammed to a halt. She pointed out that slapping was far too effeminate for Fred, and the rest of the chapter wrote itself. I love when things I make up work out this nicely all by themselves!   
  
Another big thanks to myimmortal for the wonderful review on chapter five, which proclaimed this "one of the best and thought out stories of all time" -- a beautiful compliment, "and so, of course, not true." (--Meriadoc Brandybuck, The Fellowship of the Ring) I was also termed "Shorty," which I assume is an extreme coincidence having nothing to do with my actual stature (short).   
  
soapbox I was reading a fanfic wherein the author had no opening or closing remarks, no acknowledgements, no nothing. It made for a very smooth read, however, I personally enjoy reading about how the story develops. A smooth read is more for polished, published lit, whereas reading a story as it's being written is more an involvement in the process and I like reading about that. /soapbox 


	7. Learning of Life

Three Times Six, Chapter 7 By: myr_halcyon  
  
Summary: Harry goes to Hogwarts. The author writes Dumbledore for all he's worth.  
  
Author's Note: I apologize for any awkward paragraphs, turns of phrase, etc. Please let me know specifically if something doesn't work, because I am merely eager to get this posted and appease all you hungry demons. I will make any changes as they come to my attention. Thanks for your patience!  
  
=====  
  
"Don't do this, Tom."  
  
The young man facing Albus Dumbledore was undaunted. "I'll do what I please, Albus, and I highly doubt you'll have any say in the matter at all." He slipped his hand into his robe. "Now, if you will kindly move aside, I shall be leaving."  
  
Albus drew himself up. "Thomas, you are eighteen. Undoubtedly you know everything there is to know about everything -" the smallest twinkle sparkled in Albus' eye - "but Grindelwald is on the move and I hardly think it wise for anyone to be out and about in Europe these days."  
  
Tom pulled his wand from the pocket inside his robe. "You are an old fool, Albus. I have nothing to fear from Grindelwald: indeed, I am greater than that pretender could ever hope. The blood of Slytherin himself runs in my veins, Albus, and I don't intend to sit around this castle and let you so-called Aurors destroy the entire world while you're trying to bring him down!" The wand was now pointed at Albus' head. "Step aside, old man, or I shall make you," said Tom in a voice that was most certainly not his own.  
  
Shaking his head, Albus reached for his wand. "Believe me, Tom, this is for your own good..." But before his fingers found their purchase, Albus' ear twitched and he sprang aside, barely avoiding the white arc of light emanating from Tom's wand.  
  
"Excellent reflexes, old man," laughed Tom in the surreal tone he'd used earlier. "But they will not save you now. You will be the first to fall, then Dippet, and then the rest of you deluded ancients. It is my time now, the time for my reign, and you can do nothing to stop it."  
  
Tom's eyes were wild, but Albus merely shook his head and sighed. In a lightning-swift movement, his wand was in his hand, pointed at Tom. "Don't do this, Tom. You don't know what you're up against."  
  
"Tom?" spat the young man. "How dare you sully my presence with that horrid name? No, I shall be known by a pseudonym that will strike fear into the hearts of those who hear it. No longer will I be called Tom Marvolo Riddle: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT!"  
  
As the halls rang with Tom's pronouncement, Albus' face became grave. Though the name was ridiculous and the ambitions ludicrous, there was an ominous aura around the teenager. He knew far too much for his years, a fact Albus wished he could have altered. But all the wishing in the world would not restore the innocence to this possessed being, this wild man. "Do not take me for some conjuror of cheap tricks," murmured Albus, moving the fingers of his left hand in a complicated dance he'd perfected years ago. His physical form seemed to swell to fill the entire hallway, and the power building behind the spell made even the sun through the window seem insignificant. "I do this only to protect you, Tom," he said, fixing his eyes on the insolent green ones staring up at him. A sudden flash of light filled the hall, and Tom disappeared.  
  
Albus slowly shrank back to his normal, slightly hunched self, and shook his head. "You haunt my waking moments, do you, Grindelwald?" he muttered to himself. "Yet I see what you do. You turn my own students against me, and have been turning them since you arose. You may take their souls, but you will never break mine." He shook his head and turned the corner, moving out of sight.  
  
Albus Dumbledore, hair whiter and longer, shook his head from the doorway where he'd watched the confrontation. "Why, Tom?" he asked the stretch of hallway in front of him.  
  
"Why didn't you kill him then, Professor?"  
  
Albus blinked, then smiled as he noticed the thin boy with messy jet-black hair and glasses standing behind him. "Ah, Harry, I see you've found me, once again lost in my thoughts. Come, let's go back to my office and talk." The two rose gently and popped out of Dumbledore's Pensieve into the familiar circular office.  
  
"So, Harry," said Dumbledore, settling into the chair behind his desk, "what brings you back to Hogwarts so soon?"  
  
"Professor!" Harry cried. "Haven't you heard? The Hogwarts Express was destroyed, nearly everyone is dead, and you ask me why I've come to see you?"  
  
"Yes, I do," said Dumbledore calmly. "Quite frankly I would have expected you to spend a good deal more time with the Weasleys, or with Miss Granger, or to go back to your Aunt and Uncle."  
  
Harry scoffed. "I can expect nothing from my relatives. They'll probably see it as a benefit for mankind that so many magical people were disposed of so conveniently -" his voice caught.  
  
"Please, Harry, there's no need to get so upset all over again." Dumbledore reached into his desk and offered Harry a cup of some brown liquid. "Try this; it generally helps me feel better."  
  
Harry sipped at the thick, warm liquid, taking the opportunity to wipe his eyes discreetly. Dumbledore seemed not to notice, but merely stared out of the window, humming cheerily. "Professor?"  
  
"Yes, Harry?"  
  
"How do you do it?"  
  
Albus raised an eyebrow. "I do a great deal of things, Harry. Which one in particular did you have in mind?"  
  
Harry took another sip from the cup. "How do you stay so...cheerful? I mean, everyone is dead, and you're humming as though you were out shopping for flowers." He jabbed at another offending tear. "What's your secret?" he whispered.  
  
Albus sighed. Once again, he was face-to-face with a student who knew far too much. But this young man wasn't the product of an unhealthy curiosity, he was the victim of circumstance: a boy forced from almost the day he was born to live in a world intent on making his life miserable. "Harry, I have no secret." The young man in front of him looked up at the wrinkled face in surprise. "I feel much like you must," admitted Albus, rising and walking to the window. "I too had friends on that train, not as close as yours, admittedly, but there were particular flowers in that garden that had attracted my attention and friendship. Your Miss Weasley, for one."  
  
Harry closed his eyes and looked away.  
  
"But Harry, I've merely learned how to look at the world. During the time Grindelwald was terrorizing Europe, I lost many friends and most of my family. Yes, I was as alone as you must feel now. But I survived, Harry, and because I survived there was still hope. There was still hope for rebuilding, still hope for a new life for those wizards who also survived. I could train more wizards, I could rebuild Hogwarts, reorganize the Ministry so we could be prepared. So more people wouldn't have to die."  
  
"You failed."  
  
Albus looked back at the figure, now curled tightly in the chair on the other side of his desk. "No, Harry, I didn't. I knew that Tom would come back. I could have stopped him, but I was optimistic. I don't particularly enjoy dealing out death, because many of the people I knew who died deserved life. I couldn't give it to them, so who was I to decide which people deserved to die and which to live? I'm no deity, Harry." He smiled, crossing slowly to the crumpled boy in the chair. Placing a finger under Harry's chin, he lifted the green eyes to look into his own. "I did not fail, because you are here. Miss Granger is alive. Arthur and Molly are alive, as are five of their children and their grandchild. There are so many who are still here with us, Harry. Yes, we suffer losses, yes, we must grieve. But there is so much good in the world yet that I cannot help but be happy. That is all."  
  
Harry blinked back tears, staring into the crystal blue eyes in front of his. "You know...about...Hermione?" he asked, slowly comprehending what exactly Dumbledore had said.  
  
"Yes, Harry," smiled Dumbledore. "Mr. Fred Weasley stuck his head into my fireplace not five minutes before you arrived, informing me of the situation and also assuring me that both mother and child would be well kept in the Burrow."  
  
"The Burrow?" Harry was confused. "But Molly - and Bill...you said Fred told you?"  
  
Dumbledore laughed lightly. "Yes, he mentioned a falling out of sorts, but assured me that everything would go, what did he say? - corkingly."  
  
Harry smiled through his tearstains. "I'm so glad. I just...I wish I could..."  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. "I think it's best if you leave Miss Granger to her own devices. She will be well taken care of, and we have need of you here, Harry."  
  
"You need me?" Harry frowned.  
  
"Yes, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Hogwarts will be the base from which we will rid the world of the scourge that is Voldemort."  
  
=====  
  
A/N: Ooh, dramatic. I'd write more, but this seems a good place to stop. Once again, I must apologize for any awkwardness, but I've been hounded incessantly by Katie, mistress of redundancy, to updateupdateupdate and I figured I should appease her. Yes, persistance is the way to my heart. Go to hell. Please, give me constructive criticism, ideas for more plot, etc, because the better your reviews are, the more likely it is that I'll update. That's not a threat, that's just how it works.  
  
Thank you so much for reading, more to follow...  
  
-MH 


	8. From Weasley to Wagner

Three Times Six, Chapter Eight by: myr_halcyon  
  
Summary: And next in line, a tussle at the Ministry's new Headquarters on the Hogwarts grounds.  
  
I dislike Percival, and enjoy adverbs. Thank you.  
  
=====  
  
Percy Weasley sat in his office. Paperwork flooded his inbox - the Ministry had been especially busy over the past few days, solidifying international relations, what with the Turks and the Dark Lord scare. Percy sighed. When would the magical world realize that You-Know-Who was effectively dead in a cave in Romania with a clan of vampire outcasts who were probably having the feast of their lives...  
  
He picked up a brief letter from the head of the Chinese Department of International Relations. Such letters had been forwarded to him as of late, as the higher-ups were busy covering up the Daily Prophet article that had leaked the rumours to the public. Percy sighed, looking over the broken English. The poor woman had obviously mispronounced the translation spell, a simple spell all officials were required to know. Such inadequacy...  
  
Ministre,  
  
We scared very long much in here. What rumors we hear? What we do? The Muggles not anything suspect, but wizarding people becoming suspicious like egg. Back indeed is He-of-the-Pronoun? Should we scared be?  
  
In hurry, Department International Relations, China  
  
Percy whipped out a small slip of parchment and carefully but impatiently wrote the same note he'd written twelve times that morning.  
  
Department of International Relations,  
  
In our position here in the heart of the perceived "problem," the Ministry of Magic of Great Britain sees no reason for alarm. You-Know-Who has been effectively vanquished to the point where he no longer presents any danger to the wizarding community. His precise whereabouts are strictly confidential to prevent further danger to the less prudent of our number, but rest assured that you have nothing to worry about.  
  
The new Minister of Magic of Great Britain, Mr. Albus Dumbledore, wishes to inform our brothers in magic that all will be settled posthaste and you may all go about your merry lives.  
  
Sincerely, Percival Weasley Department of International Relations Ministry of Magic London, England  
  
Percy dropped his quill neatly back into the inkwell and blew on the wet ink. He was drumming his fingers on his desk, waiting for the ink to dry, when a mountain of black and brown burst through his door.  
  
"Whaddeyeh think yer DOIN', Weasley?" it bellowed.  
  
"Oh, hello there, Rubeus," said Percy, distractedly. "If you don't mind, I've got a pile of letters to answer, Ministers to console, the usual, you know. Now if you'd just...?" He nodded his head toward the door.  
  
Hagrid was not so easily dismissed. He slammed his hands down on either side of the letter Percy had written, nearly cracking the desk. "Weasley, if Minister Dumbledore's told yeh once, he's told yeh a thousan' times. Yer not ter be sendin' plat-er-tudes out in his name! Yeh can do what yeh bloody well please with yer own name, but don' be a-sullyin' his name with yer pack o' lies!"  
  
Percy calmly picked up the glass of water from his desk and took a sip from the scant contents that hadn't managed to spill all over the floor. "Rubeus, I don't blame you in the slightest for your lack of knowledge on the subject. I assure you, You-Know-Who is safely tucked away where he won't bother anyone anymore. Just because Minister Dumbledore doesn't wish to acknowledge the fact doesn't mean it isn't true." He set his glass down and smiled smugly at Hagrid, motioning for the large man to vacate his office.  
  
Hagrid stared, dumbfounded, into Percy's unwavering gaze. "Yeh really believe that, don' yeh," he said quietly. "I can't believe yeh...yer own brothers and sister dead 'cause of that monster, and yer willin' ter just let 'im go..." He stood up slowly and took a step back from the desk, running a hand wildly through his hair. "Don' yeh feel even the leas' bit o'...o' need fer revenge?"  
  
"No, Rubeus, I don't," said Percy, raising an eyebrow. "Revenge will get me nowhere, while keeping everyone calm and letting the Ministry do its job will help everyone get along. It is indeed unfortunate that so many young people had to lose their lives in that horrid accident, but accidents do happen, and we all need to learn to get on with our lives."  
  
"Git on with...ACCIDENT? If that were an accident, I'm a bloody niffler! It was them Death Eaters...an' You-Know-Who...he killed yer brothers! He killed poor Ginny!" Hagrid flung his arms wide, narrowly missing a ficus sitting on Percy's filing cabinet. "They're yer blood, Weasley!"  
  
Percy sighed, shifting his attention to the nearly dry letter on his desk. "They were indeed my blood, Rubeus," he said firmly. "And I miss them deeply. However, there are things to be done, and the living need to be comforted and told what to do more than the dead need to be dwelt on."  
  
Hagrid's jaw dropped. "But...I can't believe yeh, Weasley. I can't believe that yeh believe the lies the blasted Wizard Relations people are makin' up...and yer jus' sittin' there like it's bloody Midsummer's day or summat. What's wrong with yeh?"  
  
"Absolutely nothing," said Percy evenly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." He blew on the ink a final time and lightly brushed his finger over the text, resolved to pay no more heed to the half-giant in front of him.  
  
Hagrid stood, shaking silently, in front of Percy's desk for several long minutes, watching Percy fold up and bind the letter to the leg of a bored-looking Ministry screech owl with mind-wrenching precision. Percy neatly addressed the parchment, "From Mister Percival Weasley To The Department Of International Relations Of China" and picked up a paper from the top of his inbox as the owl flapped out of the window.  
  
Percy's office changed, in the time it takes for a snake to wink an eye, from a tidy and orderly work of perfection to a pile of rubble that Dudley Dursley would have admired. "What the hell was that?" cried Percy, flailing his arms from his new position underneath the drapery.  
  
***  
  
Dumbledore was making his way back to his office from the Great Hall when he felt the vibrations of a second Dark explosion rock the castle. He paused in the teachers' hallway and closed his eyes. Death, he could feel. Everyone in the outer buildings. Gone.  
  
He sighed. He knew he shouldn't have moved the Ministry to the outlying grounds, but they'd been ignoring him anyway and he'd just needed to express the mutual dislike physically. He just hadn't thought that Voldemort would have found them so quickly like that. Hadn't thought that Voldemort would have been prepared to attack so quickly. He'd be to the castle by nightfall.  
  
So this was the beginning of the end, it was, he thought. He raised his eyes past the ceilings and wished the souls of the Ministry workers repose, forgiving them for all their past scuffles. Bringing his eyes back to earth, he turned back towards his office, where Harry was waiting to finalize the battle plan and muster what army they could. As Dumbledore went over the latest intelligence in his head, he began to mindlessly hum a requiem and move his hands almost imperceptibly like the ghostly conductor of a one-violin orchestra.  
  
"Mommy, what's that crazy old man doing?" Dumbledore heard the whispered question of a small child as he passed through the Entrance Hall and half opened an eye to look at the source of the voice. Many families had begun to gather at Hogwarts in preparation for the final battle, and this mother and daughter were two of the newest arrivals. The mother was obviously trying to shush her daughter and explain that the crazy old man was one of the most powerful and knowledgeable wizards around and should be treated with respect.  
  
Dumbledore smiled a half smile and continued on with his plans and his requiem, ignoring a minor scuffle until he felt a tug on his robes. He opened his eyes completely to find himself staring into the huge brown ones of the little girl. "Excuse me, sir," she said, giving an awkward curtsy, "but what're you doing?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled, the first honest smile he'd had all day. He knelt down so his once-again-twinkling eyes were even with hers. "What's your name, dear?" he asked.  
  
"Meghan Gnossi, sir," she said, biting her lip.  
  
"Well, Miss Gnossi," he said, "what do you think I'm doing?"  
  
Megan thought for a minute. "Being weird?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "No."  
  
"Wandless magic? Because it's not working too well," she said. "...sir," she added, awkwardly remembering her manners.  
  
Dumbledore shook his head, ruffling her hair as he stood up. "No, my dear, it's working wonderfully," he said, stretching out his fingers again. "You see, Miss Gnossi, I'm writing a symphony."  
  
=====  
  
A/N: Thank you to the Harry Potter Lexicon for information on Dumbledore's musical inclinations. And 10 points to the house of anyone who can guess the name of Percy's office plant. A longer author's note awaits you in the reviews.  
  
And to my beautiful reviewers whom I love so very much:  
  
Mia: You're the reason I didn't update quickly (everyone note this: never tell an author you can wait a while for an update), but pay it no mind. Glad you like!  
  
Agi: Whee...I updated. I was going to turn this into a Scar Challenge submission, but I like Dumbledore's ending here better.  
  
Katergator: ...You don't get a "ding".  
  
Elizabeth Wright: There, I updated. Haven't seen Rosemary's Baby, I'll have to look it up sometime. Don't worry, Dumbledore's going to turn out more like Dr. Theimer than Gandalf.  
  
myimmortal: No, actually I've been reading Lord of the Rings lately, though I do enjoy the movies as well. The first two chapters are further in time than the rest of this story; this started out as a one-shot fic and morphed into the monster it is now. You were supposed to be confused about Dumbledore; that's how I designed the chapter. In fact, most of this story is about being confused. It's sort of higher level, "I'm going to make you think on your own" type writing. I haven't had much time for fanfic, but I'll check out sixteen candles when I get the chance.  
  
Becki: Sorry I didn't update quite ASAP, but...well, I want to try to do things right. And like my bio says, my muse is fickle.  
  
Thank you one and everyone! -MH 


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